


The Defectors

by InFlagranteDestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse, Case Fic, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2015, M/M, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 03:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5032399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InFlagranteDestiel/pseuds/InFlagranteDestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is ending, for real this time. Castiel hears it from the bees and the Spheres, but he isn't willing to listen. Until, of course, the apocalypse comes to them. It isn't their kind of thing until it is. Dean, Castiel, and Sam work hard to help our dying world, and they get help from an unexpected source: Death Herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Defectors

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote Santa Muerte into this story. I do not mean any disrespect to her or any of her adherents, of which I could charitably be called one. I dedicate this story to her, and ask for her mercy if I fucked it up.

**Can This World Really be as Sad as it Seems?**

Castiel worried more and more about the bees. His friends had disappeared by the dozens, others of their kind coming to tell him about hives everywhere that collapsed. There was no rhyme or reason to it – close to towns or not, near water or in the high deserts – the bees were just disappearing. 

He didn’t watch the news, of course. He listened to his bee friends or the voices that the wind carried to him. A vague sense of disquiet came with them, but he did not perceive the truth until it was too late. 

The truth was that it was more than the bees. The whole hive of the world was collapsing. His Father’s pet project, the world Castiel had been created and sworn to protect, was dying. Looking back, he saw that it had been a slow death. It had started in the days when the Winchesters were still little boys, dodging monsters and deprivation across the great American landscape. Maybe it had started before then, even when John Winchester was a lonely boy wondering where his father had gone. Castiel could no longer wing his way through time, so he had to rely on memory. He supposed that a foul, metallic tang had begun to permeate the air in the 1860s, by this Western reckoning. He had grown used to it over the intervening one hundred sixty years, so much so that as the first quarter of the twenty-first century ended, he didn’t sense it anymore. He had also lost most of his Grace, scraping together the last remnants just to keep himself healthy or communicate between species. Flight and time travel were out of the question. If he thought back hard enough, though, he could tell that it had been about that long since the metallic taste had been in the air. 

It was the bees and the weather, militarization of the police and indeed of people in general. It was the way the water tasted like chlorine and medicine, the way the food smelled like bug spray. It was decline, and he’d never seen it before quite like this. He’d seen empires rise and fall, buildings topple, friends become enemies, but he had never seen the world die.   
***

It made him morose, he realized. Dean and Sam spent their days reading and playing video games. Sam had a part-time job in town doing maintenance for the schools. Dean spent his time fielding calls and doing research for other hunters. The younger ones stopped in on occasion, and he trained them or helped them with tough cases. Life happened around Castiel, and he sort of sat back and watched it. He watched Dean laugh as he knocked a kid half his age to the floor. He managed a faint smile when Sam talked about some of the strange things he’d unearthed at the schools in town. But the bees worried him and the water worried him. For once in their lives, Sam and Dean were happy, and he didn’t want to be the one to tell them that it would end soon. 

If Castiel had never seen an end so terminal, he did know what endings looked like. Rarely did endings come abruptly. Instead, they came by degrees, by slow erosion. While he was sitting back and watching Sam and Dean live their lives, he thought back to the signs he should have seen but missed. He’d been so focused on being a good soldier that he didn’t see the other things at work. He didn’t see the forests disappearing, the oceans becoming more acidic, the ice caps melting. He knew these things, for the Spheres sang of them in long, mournful notes, but he didn’t understand them. Now, it was too late. The course had been set.   
***

“You okay, Cas?” 

Dean stood at the dresser, riffling through his underwear drawer trying to find his favorite pair. Castiel lay in their bed, waiting. He didn’t need sleep, exactly, but like eating, it was an activity he’d come to enjoy.

“I’m fine,” Castiel said, automatically. 

“Not buying it.” 

What could he tell this man? This man, who had been a friend, an enemy, a comrade, a partner? I feel the earth dying, and me along with it. You, Sam, the bees – everyone, all of it, dying. My Father’s creation that I was sworn to protect, whose wounds I couldn’t see. No, he couldn’t tell Dean any of that. 

Dean found the pair he wanted, took off the ones he’d worn during the day, and slipped the others on. He’d gotten softer around the edges in past years, hard muscle replaced with more tender flesh. Castiel was glad for these signs of comfort, of slowing down. Dean’s muscles had never had the polished gym sheen; they had always been borne out of necessity and hard work. To see them gone was to see a life with no need for running around and fighting, constant motion. 

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Cas.” 

Castiel sighed and pulled Dean close, kissed him deeply, like they did when they first got together. It was a kiss to make up for lost time, one that engaged every part of his mouth and his senses. He felt it deep in his guts and his toes and the back of his head. 

“The bees are dying.” 

In the yellow glow of the bedside lamp, the last bit of light he saw every night before drifting into meditation, Dean’s face fixed itself into relief and amusement. 

“I reckon there’s nothing you can do about it right now, huh? Go to sleep, or whatever it is you do.” 

Dean switched off the light and pulled Castiel close. His breathing soon slowed and his grip loosened across Castiel’s chest. 

Laying in the dark, staring up at what he knew on faith to be the ceiling, Castiel had half a mind to wake Dean up, slap him across the face, and tell him that no bees meant no crops. No crops meant no wheat for hamburger buns, no corn for livestock feed and thus no hamburgers to put on the non-existent buns, not to mention the lack of hops for beer. The bees were tiny harbingers of doom, as far as Castiel saw. They were rats bailing out of a sinking ship.   
***

**For With Much Wisdom Comes Much Sorrow**

Refugees started pouring out of California and Nevada. There was no water, no food. When rain came, it didn’t even get so far as to become groundwater, sinking only as deep as the hard baked earth would allow. Snow pack didn’t go as far as it used to, if anywhere at all. Those with the means managed to hide away in the Sierra Nevadas, but that was few and far between. 

Most migrated, but where could they go? For generations, they had lived on the West Coast. They had ridden the wave of Manifest Destiny to its logical conclusion. Some had family in the Midwest and on the east coast, in the south and in the plains. Some only got as far as Oregon and Washington, but those states disallowed new residency right quick. 

Dean, Sam, and Castiel watched this with horror from the safety of their living room. The huge television that was normally used solely for video games and binge-watching TV shows was now tuned to the news networks. Like Castiel, the news networks didn’t notice until it was too late – or didn’t run it. 

Before long, they were checking their well – secret and off the grid from any official water source. They checked the fortifications of the bunker. It pained Dean to no end, but he sold off most of the vehicles they had in storage. Cash on hand never hurt anyone. 

All of them were used to privation and sacrifice, so it hardly seemed surprising that those two things would catch up with them. Though Castiel mourned it for the Winchesters, mourned their brief moment of security, he kept it quiet. Dean and Sam – though, Dean in particular, he had to admit – would find it condescending and weak if he were to tell them how deeply he grieved. To them, the world was comprised of far more cruelty than beauty. Perhaps it was, but as far as Castiel could see, beauty was there and all the more deserving of grief when it was lost.   
***

The tone of the newscasts devolved into bewildered hand wringing. The same networks that used to run hour-long specials on celebrity families and reality television stars now turned to serious reportage about the crisis that had sprung up, as if it had happened all at once. To hear it on the news, water had just dried up with no rhyme or reason. Castiel couldn’t judge them too harshly, for he had ignored signs himself – though he didn’t have studios full of trained journalists at his disposal, so for once he let himself off the hook. 

Castiel and Dean stopped watching the news. It didn’t help anything. There was nothing they could do to stop it. Only Sam was in there, whenever he had a spare moment, watching as though it would lead him to a new plane of enlightenment. He always sat on the edge of the coffee table, closest to the television, eyes fixed on the screen. Grooves appeared on his forehead as he gathered his face into a frown – Sam’s serious look that Castiel knew so well.

Dean and Castiel had taken to watching when Sam was gone or sleeping. It wasn’t perfect, by any means, and of course it ran over eventually. Sam came home when they were in the middle of watching something, and it broke loose. 

“Hey,” Sam said. “You guys about done? I’m going to shower real quick and then I wanted to watch the news.” 

Dean paused the movie they were watching and did that thing with his hand where he passed it over his face as though rubbing off cobwebs. Castiel shifted next to him, knowing it was a sign of something to come. Dean twisted around and balanced one hand on his knee, fixed Sam with a stare. 

“Sam, you gotta chill out on the news-watching thing.” 

“Oh, because binge-watching _Orange is the New Black_ is so important?” 

“No, and that ain’t the point.” 

Sam crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “So what is the point?” 

“The point is that you’re just gonna drive yourself up a wall watching the news. We’ve got our own thing here, and we need to ride this out.” 

“Ride this out? This is some apocalypse shit, Dean. We can’t ride it out. We have to learn what’s going on, and then go out there and help.” 

Castiel sat back and stared at his hands. Their years of peace had yielded more understanding between the brothers; the days where every disagreement was a slight were gone. But these men had suffered in ways that few could know, and those wounds would not heal with a few bottles of beer and some video games. 

“This ain’t our kind of thing, Sam. Now, if you think demons sucked all the water out of California, then maybe we can talk, but unless it looks like that—” He shrugged and shook his head. 

“Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable. You know whose logic that is, don’t you? Who would say the same thing?” 

“Don’t.” Dean rose, his muscles tensing. Finally, Castiel was moved into action. He rose as well, held Dean back by his upper arms. He gripped as tight as he dared. 

“Don’t do this, Dean,” he whispered. 

“No, man, we gotta go this. We gotta get some things straight.” 

“What, exactly, are those things?” 

“That we’re _hunters_. We’re trained to hunt monsters and uglies and whatever else that Hell and Purgatory puke out onto this planet.” 

“How is this any different?” 

“This is man-made. We know demons, we know vamps. We don’t know what people are going to do. We don’t know what kind of mess we’d be stepping into.” 

“We never know that.” 

Dean crashed back onto the couch, banged his head against it, and then turned to face Sam. Castiel kept his hand on him at all times, as though that would be enough to quell him if he chose rashness. 

“I’m talking government conspiracies. The army. Starving, scared civilians.” 

“That’s a bullshit excuse.” 

Dean shook his head. “Maybe it is, but it’s the kind of bullshit excuse that will save our lives.” 

Sam looked from Dean to Castiel and back again. His eyes finally lingered on Castiel, as though Castiel were the one who would side with him on this. While it was true that he hardly thought Sam was wrong, he still understood Dean’s point far more than he figured Sam would like. Perhaps, at some juncture, there had been demonic influence. It was always a possibility when humans showed extreme perfidy. However, a hard-won truth he had learned was that humans needed but the barest nudge before they were off killing each other or starting wars. To presume demonic intervention was folly. 

“If there was ever a time to see the best in people, now is that time.” 

“How is watching CNN all goddamned day going to make a difference there?” 

Sam wouldn’t admit that Dean was right about that, so he just growled in frustration, smacked the wall with his palm, and walked out of the room. The wake of his silence was oppressive. For all of his millennia in communication with the Spheres, his increasing humanity, and his love for Dean, Castiel found himself without a single word or gesture that would ameliorate the tension. It remained in the air, hanging and palpable like a humid tropical plant. 

Dean sat back and rested his head on the back of the couch. “Am I wrong?” 

“Sometimes,” Castiel said, as jokingly as he could muster. Dean’s mouth twitched and he swatted Castiel’s knee. “This isn’t a matter of right and wrong.” 

“Maybe. Maybe not.” 

Castiel kissed Dean on the temple and reached for the remote.   
***

 **Singed by the Cold, the Eyelid Drops off Like a Piece of Dead Skin… Their Future Was Only Lunacy**

It became “their kind of thing” soon enough, and really, Castiel ought to have known it would be so. 

Krissy Chambers washed up on their shore, disheveled and exhausted. They hadn’t heard from her in years. Sporadic e-mails or texts floated through on occasion, check-ins that she was alive, but she had never come by the bunker, had never sought further training. 

It was a bright, hot day, and sweat ran down Castiel’s back in thick rivulets. He and Dean had been out on a supply run while Sam was at work; both were already tense and preoccupied as they drove home. The car ride had been miserable, and the AC hadn’t made a bit of difference against the heat. 

They pulled up, and there was a battered Ford Ranger with California plates parked along the perimeter. Through the open door, they saw a pair of ragged jeans and thin legs. 

Dean skidded the car to a halt and they jumped out to find her there. Her hair was ratty and pulled back in a rough bun and her skin was caked with sweat and dirt. Her face had lost any semblance of roundness, with cheekbones and sunken eyes replacing the youthful vitality. 

Castiel gathered the groceries while Dean picked Krissy up as effortlessly as a loaf of bread. 

She barely stirred as they took her through the bunker and into a spare room. As Dean laid her down on the bed, Castiel surveyed the damage. She was emaciated, her arms like twigs. She was filthy and caked in grime – not any sort of usual mud or dust, but like she’d been working in a coal mine. Through the dirt, he could now see old bruises in psychedelic shades of purple and green. They were not focused or shaped like fingers, but rather the kind attained from being thrown around – the signs of a serious fight. 

Castiel went to the kitchen and got some water and saltines. He brought them to the room and Dean sat on the bed, gently smacking Krissy’s face, trying to get her to wake up. He looked at Castiel and shrugged. 

Krissy stirred when Castiel brought the water to her lips. She drank sloppily and with eyes closed. Half the water spilled out and ran down her neck leaving zebra stripes in the grime along the way. She slumped back when she was done. 

“I’m going to move her truck,” Dean said. “And the Impala.” 

He left, and Castiel stayed by Krissy’s side. He found himself praying, which happened less and less frequently. He understood prayer differently now that he was closer to human than angel. It was perhaps more about the person praying, rather than the person being prayed for, which sounded cynical even to someone basically bonded for life to a Winchester. In any case, he did pray. He prayed for Krissy and for anyone else in harm’s way. He prayed for himself and this strange family he had become a part of. He didn’t know what he was praying for, because the angels would never be driven to anything other than a mission against demons. They had their orders, and those could never fully be broken – not even by God’s prolonged hiatus or man’s self-destruction. 

Dean returned after a while, slipped into the room and stood against the wall. “Moved the truck and the Impala. I don’t think she was followed or anything.” 

Castiel nodded. He hadn’t even thought of that, though he really should have. His paranoia skills were slipping. He wanted to believe that it was because his life was so good, there was no need for paranoia, but he knew that was a small part of it. More than anything, that part of his brain had short-circuited. He had run and fought and planned for so many years. Tactical paranoia was a reflex for so long. But now he couldn’t do it. He was burned out on paranoia. 

Krissy stirred, mumbled something. Castiel shushed her, took her hand, and she stilled. 

“Registration in the car says it’s registered to a Harold Devlin.” 

“You think he knows his truck is in the middle of Kansas?” 

Dean shrugged. “Knowing how hunters are, probably not. Anyway, I stashed it in the garage away from looky-loos.” 

Of course he did. Dean’s paranoia reflex was still strong, even after all these years. Castiel supposed that was a good thing. They had to persevere somehow.   
***

Sam came home later, and Dean called him to the room. His face fell as he entered and saw Krissy, still lying immobile and barely breathing. It had been a couple of hours since they brought her in. 

“Oh shit.” 

“Yeah,” Dean said. 

Sam sat at the end of the bed and put his hand on her leg. It looked even more gigantic than usual as compared to her withered limb. “What happened?” 

“We don’t know. She was in the yard when we drove up.” He explained the scene, the mysterious Ford truck with the California plates. 

“I’ll e-mail some contacts, see if she had been running with anyone. In the meantime, we need to get her hydrated so she can wake up and wash. She’s been through some kind of fight.” 

“Haven’t we all?” Castiel said to no one in particular. 

The best they could do in the way of food for someone in her state was a can of chicken broth. Castiel heated it in the microwave, barely daring to let it get hotter than tepid, and brought it in. 

She woke up enough to sip the broth when Castiel held it under her nose. She did not speak and her eyes barely opened. It took nearly half an hour to feed her a mug full, and she slipped back into sleep when it was done. Castiel took the mug to the kitchen, where Dean and Sam sat drinking coffee. 

“We might have to take her to a hospital,” Sam said. 

“No. Absolutely not. Not until we know what happened to her.” 

“Dean, she could die. Now is not the time for that hunter bullshit.” 

“We don’t know what kind of trouble she’s in. Monsters? Humans? Cops?” He shook his head, cut the air in front of him with his hand. “We’re not putting her at risk of being found. She is safe here. I can guarantee that.” 

“You can’t guarantee a damn thing.” 

“We have an alarm system and we know how to fight. We can watch her around the clock. No one – _no one_ – can offer that. The hospital in town is fucking packed with people just like her.” 

“So? They have actual equipment—”

“Dean’s right,” Castiel said. 

Sam’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide in disbelief. Castiel, despite being with Dean for almost ten years, rarely took sides when the brothers argued. Usually he went for a walk instead. 

“Dean’s right,” he said louder. “If we drop her off, it looks bad. Three guys dropping off a beaten woman at a hospital? We have nothing that proves we’re friends or relatives. The hospital will call the police, and they will look at us. And then what do we say? ‘Oh, sorry officer. She probably got beaten up by a demon.’ That won’t hold up.” 

Sam ran his hand through his hair and slammed his fist on the table. “Fucking-god-fucking-dammit.” 

Castiel poured some coffee for himself, sat next to Dean. He put his arm around the back of the other man’s chair and waited for Sam to think about the situation. 

“Godammit,” he said again. 

Once it had been agreed that the hospital was not an option, they spent the rest of that day taking turns trying to get her hydrated. They took a shift every hour and fed her broth or water, sat with her, wiped her face. She didn’t seem feverish at all, which was good, but when she opened her eyes, she couldn’t focus them and instead stared vacantly as she was fed. 

Night fell, and they again took turns staying up with her, monitoring her vital signs, ready to be there when she woke up. Sam took the first shift while Dean and Castiel went down the hall to their room. 

They lay in bed in silence, Dean holding Castiel uncomfortably close. Even though he was too warm and Dean’s leg was sweaty against him, Castiel didn’t complain or move. 

“What if it was me?” Dean asked. 

“What if what was you?” 

“Krissy. I mean, what if I got separated from you? Ended up – I don’t know where.” 

“That won’t happen, and you know it.” 

“But if you died – or Sam – or what if I went out and you couldn’t find me?” His voice cracked and Castiel felt him shift as he wiped away tears. 

Castiel rose up on his elbows and put his face close to Dean’s. There was barely enough light to see, but enough so that they knew the other was there. “That will not happen,” he said slowly. “Especially now. We’re not leaving each other, ever. Now get some sleep. Your shift is up next.” 

He knew Dean wanted to argue the point, but he held back. Instead he kissed Castiel and turned onto his side. Within minutes, his breathing slowed and he was asleep. 

Castiel fell into his nightly stupor. He tried his best to clear his mind, for he found that served him as well as sleep in those days. As those who were fully human did, he needed to recharge his mind. 

His peace was disrupted too soon, with the sound of yelling and clattering. He and Dean sprung up with the strength of old reflexes, into the hall. There they found Krissy clinging to the wall, holding a lamp as a weapon. She looked like a walking corpse, her face still grimy and pale, her legs shaking underneath her own weight. 

She mumbled incoherently, and as Castiel approached, he saw that her eyes were wild and sightless. She was seeing but not comprehending. He moved in front of her, locked eyes, and spoke as low as he could. 

“Krissy, it’s Castiel. You’re here with me, Dean, and Sam.” 

She shook her head and mumbled, “No’m’not.” 

“You are,” Sam said. He inched closer and she half-heartedly brandished the lamp at him. 

“I promise you are,” Castiel said. Whatever remnant of Grace he retained stirred within him and he concentrated on projecting out that calming energy that worked on humans. It had served him well, even though many times he thought his fragile charges foolish for trusting in angels as they did. In any case, Krissy’s eyes unclouded, and she put the lamp down. She slumped against the floor and drew her knees up, circled her arms around them, and set her head in the dark space that created. 

Castiel reached out, pulled her up, and escorted her back to bed. She sat there shaking while Sam went to get her some water and crackers. Castiel sat at the side of the bed and Dean stood at the door. She couldn’t talk yet and her eyes started to drift off and lose focus. She accepted sustenance from Sam when he returned, though it was clear that it was an impulse rather than a conscious thing. 

They all wanted to know what happened. Even Castiel, so versed in the idea that all will be revealed in time, felt itchy with the need to understand. No matter what, though, they all knew they’d have to wait. Whatever her story was, it was going to be big. Castiel tried as best he could to be patient and to enjoy the last moments in time before whatever revelations were set loose.  
***  
It took two more days of feeding her like the injured animal that she was, two more nights of terror, before they found out how she had come to them. 

The fog suddenly lifted, and in the midst of them sitting by her bedside, she came into herself. Her eyes cleared and she managed to speak a few shaking sentences. 

“Did I drive here?” 

“Yes,” Castiel confirmed. 

Sam held out a glass of water and she took it with both her shaking hands. She stared at it a moment before drinking. 

“Were you in California?” Dean asked. 

She nodded. “That’s why I came here.” 

Dean and Sam exchanged a look. They’d nurse her back to health, but they all knew they weren’t running a refugee center. 

Krissy was no dumb bunny, for she caught it immediately. “No, not like that. I’ll be moving on as soon as I can—”

“No, I mean, stay as long—”

She smiled – the sad kind. “Sam, I know better. No, I’ll move on, but I had to come here.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Why’s that? Why here?” 

She sat up as best she could, tried to look a little more alive. “It’s a long enough story. Maybe I could get a shower first?” 

Sam hastened to scramble to his feet and help her up. “Of course. Totally. Of course.” 

They all swarmed around her, helped her get to the bathroom and find towels. Dean unearthed some shorts and a shirt. It wasn’t anything particularly feminine, but there was no need for any of that anyway. 

They waited in the living room for her to finish. Castiel found it sort of ironic that this was where they were waiting for news – this time, however, the news took on a sense of reality. No longer relegated to flat images in a thin box, this was news in real time. 

She emerged only minutes later, clean but hardly refreshed. 

“That was quick,” Dean said. 

Her lips twitched and she sat down on one of the chairs, drew her knees up. “Yeah, well, I’m used to making it quick in the shower these days. Lingering isn’t – isn’t an option.” 

Dean nodded, looked down at his hands. 

Though she still looked young – all humans looked young to Castiel – it was apparent she was an adult now. Time and privation had eroded any roundness in her face. Her body was sickly thin, skeletal underneath the shirt and shorts she wore. Her feet were like broad chunks of bark, ridged and discolored. Every vein and bone stood out. 

Castiel went to her, and tried to put his arm around her shoulders. 

Her eyes found focus, and she gazed hard at Sam, Dean, and Castiel in rapid succession. However, it did not offer her any peace. In moments, her fearfulness changed.

“We have to go. We have to go to California,” she said. 

“We can’t,” Castiel said. 

“Bullshit,” she said, trying to wrest herself from his arms. He didn’t hold her tight at all, but she was so weak that she couldn’t even manage to move his arm. “You got something better to do? Come on, we have to start planning.” 

She tried to lunge forward, but her legs buckled underneath her, and she went limp in Castiel’s arms. He set her down on the couch and the three of them stood over her, ready to pull her back if she started to run. 

“You’re going to need to be a bit more specific as to what we’re sallying forth to do,” Dean said. His arms were crossed and he glowered down at her lovingly, reminding Castiel of Bobby Singer. 

She took a deep breath. “You’ve been watching the news, I assume?” 

They nodded. 

“Well, the lack of water was just the beginning of their problems.” 

“Go on.” 

“You know people have been pouring out of there left and right. But not everyone could make it out right away. There were a ton of people left behind there. Sure, the Army and the police came in and got a lot of people out, but that’s been slow. Too slow for things like vamps and werewolves and other nasty fucking beasts that you’re all too familiar with.” 

None of them had moved as she spoke. Castiel couldn’t confirm it, but he was sure they were all thinking the same thing. They should have known. Of course they should have. It was the most obvious answer, and they had all missed it. They didn’t call anyone or do anything. Sam looked guiltiest of all, staring down at the floor. He had pursued it only once with Dean, and then promptly let it go. 

“And you were hunting them?” 

She shrugged. “Yeah. Me and Aiden and Josephine, we’d been hanging around the west for a while. Then this guy Aiden knew, he called us up. We’d exorcised his wife about a year ago. Anyway, he said that since then, he’d kept his eye on weird news, and apparently the _Sacramento Bee_ had been reporting some mighty strange shit of late. Animal attacks, throats mauled, drained of blood. We went out there and—” She hung her head, wiped away a tear. “By the time we got there, it was werewolves and kitsunes and all kinds of shit.” 

Castiel sat next to her and pulled her close, even though she tensed beneath him. He took her hand and squeezed it. “You could have called.” 

“No, cell service is fucked, for the most part.” 

Sam cleared his throat. “I, uh, I hate to ask, but – Aiden and Josephine?” 

“I don’t know,” she said. “I think they’re still alive. We met up with some other hunters that had been tracking some vamps and followed them down that way. We all tried to get them in the daytime, but they had security set up. I barely got away. I – I knew I couldn’t come back without reinforcements, and I just – I just kept driving.” 

“How long ago was that?” Sam asked.

“Not sure, but I drove all night and into the next day.”

“You’ve been here a few days,” Dean said and hastened to add, “but not that many. There still may be time.”

Krissy was too smart to be convinced, her skepticism betraying itself on her face, but she said nothing. At this stage of things, polite fictions had to be introduced or the whole thing would fall apart. 

“How many other hunters were there?” Castiel asked. 

“A dozen, give or take a couple.” 

“That’s good,” Sam said. “I mean, not good, but it’s – it’s better than half a dozen, right? That many hunters can get a lot done.” 

“I guess.” 

“We’re glad you came to us with this,” Sam said. 

Castiel surprised himself by thinking, _I’m not._ Oh yes, of course, as a creature who had once been created by God for the sole task of protecting humanity, he should have been grateful for any intercession that allowed one of the Father’s human children to survive with a fighting chance for doing more good in the world. Instead, he felt only fear. The life he had built with Dean would be irreparably changed by this new turn of events. They could no longer watch the growing disaster on the news. It had come to them. Sure, in theory, they could have declared that it wasn’t their problem. They could tell her to move along and go see someone else about it. But that was hardly the Winchester way of doing things, particularly when human lives were being threatened by monsters. At the very least, the brothers would disagree with one another on what to do. At the most, they would mobilize. Whatever it was, the end result would be the same: Change.   
***

She went back to bed soon enough. Dean helped her down the labyrinthine corridors of the bunker while Castiel waited with Sam in the living room. They sat in silence on opposite ends of the couch.

“Please don’t gloat,” Dean said when he came back in. “I should have looked into it. When stuff like this happens, on this kind of a scale, it turns into our kind of thing soon enough.” 

“I won’t gloat. I barely fought you on it. I can’t help but think – I mean, if I was really worried, I could have fought you for it.” 

Dean went to his brother’s side. He sat next to him and put his arm around Sam’s shoulders, pulled him close. “Sam, we got a good thing going here. No one wants to fuck that up.” 

“So we’re going to help her?” Castiel couldn’t keep the bite out of his voice. Dean noticed, his shifting eyes giving him away. 

“We’re not just helping her,” Dean said. “We’re helping her friends, other hunters, and probably a few civilians that could use a break.” 

Castiel started pacing and biting at his thumbnail. “And how will we do that? There are only three of us, and I doubt Krissy could drive at this point.” 

“I can shake the phone tree, see what falls out.” 

“Since when to hunters have a phone tree?” Sam asked.

“Since I made one.” 

Sam’s eyebrows did a little dance of confusion. 

“Well, hell, what’d we have in Dad’s day? A bunch of paranoid old coots who treated their journals like ancient codices—”

“Codices?” Sam asked, rapidly losing his veneer of composure. 

“Shut up, man,” Dean muttered, crossing his arms. 

“I believe we were discussing the phone tree,” Castiel reminded them. 

“Yeah. I mean, I keep in touch with people and, you know, actually write their phone numbers down in a list, instead of all willy-nilly in the margins. And, like, some of them know other folks, so… phone tree. I could shake it, see who falls out. I haven’t heard from some in a while – maybe someone’s already on it.” 

“Codices,” Sam muttered under his breath.

Dean gave him the stink-eye and went on. “Anyway, I think we can all agree we gotta do _something_.” 

Castiel wanted to argue that point. They didn’t _have_ to do anything. They could have sent Krissy on her way with a copy of Dean’s phone tree and prayed for the best. But of course they wouldn’t. Even now, even as middle age and comfort set in, they wouldn’t abandon humanity. That wasn’t the Winchester way. 

“I guess the phone tree is the best place to start,” Sam said. 

Someone surely must have been on it. If Krissy made it all the way to Kansas, someone else might have made it elsewhere and she just hadn’t heard about it yet. They’d call Dean’s contacts and find out that someone was on it, and they could offer the bunker up as a way station. No, he knew that wouldn’t be the case, either. He knew it would come down the way it always did – with the three of them in the middle.   
***

**This War, in Fact, Made No Sense at All.**

Coffee was brewed, the phone list was divided into four parts, and the Winchesters plus Krissy settled in to make calls.

He still held out hope that they wouldn’t get involved, and she’d drive her (probably stolen) truck back to California with someone else as a reinforcement. They could have a tearful reunion when all of this was over. 

But that was not to be. 

The list had changed from the people Castiel remembered a decade past. Some had disappeared, question marks scrawled by their names, but most of them had died. Castiel noticed quickly that a red line through someone’s information meant they had gone to meet their maker, and many red lines wiggled their way across the sheets. 

What they all learned was that no one had yet heard about things in California being any worse than what they knew from the news. The story hadn’t leaked out just yet. Each call dragged on for half an hour or more as they explained to everyone what was happening. Castiel soon began to suspect that they knew and were doing what he wished he could do – ignore it until it went away. Despite his innermost cowardice, lodged deep within his heart, he despised his colleagues for their perfidy. He overcame it for reasons greater than himself, which he had done for six millennia. Couldn’t they do the same thing? Were monsters more interesting or easier to kill in other parts of the country? 

No, that wasn’t it at all. Of course it wasn’t, for each person they talked to readily agreed that something had to be done. Where was the meet? When should they be there? They were willing to drop everything and run straight to California. Perhaps Castiel only wanted them to be as callous as he.   
***

At the end of the day, when coffee had been traded for beer and sandwiches had been made for dinner, they all sat back and surveyed their notes. Who wanted to help? Who was closest? Who was dead since they last spoke? Each of them had a hodgepodge of these questions and their subsequent answers, stared down at them as though they were puzzle pieces from different puzzles. 

“Everyone is ready to help,” Sam said. 

“We gotta decide what they’re helping with.” 

They looked to Krissy and she found an interesting spot on the floor to stare at like her life depended on it. 

“What are they helping with?” Dean finally asked. 

“Burn it down.”  
***

Charlie, of course, was the first to come to the bunker. She had been in Topeka, and she came the next day, showing up at the door with a bright smile and a huge box of donuts.

“What’s up, bitches?” Her voice was soft and her smile couldn’t seem to commit to its task.

She proffered the donut box to Dean, who immediately reached in and grabbed the first of what was sure to be many donuts. 

She had aged since Castiel last saw her. Nearing forty, her hair was shot through with white and gray, which she naturally wore with pride. She had traded her novelty tees for regular tees, though they were still the brightest colors just this side of neon. Lines around her eyes and mouth rounded out the overall appearance, and if Castiel didn’t know better, he might say she gained a little weight. 

She set her bags down in the kitchen and stood back, scrutinizing Sam, Dean, and Castiel. The way she narrowed her eyes, moved them methodically from head to shoulders to hands, he knew she was searching for new injuries, signs they had been neglecting themselves. She nodded in approval. 

“Looking okay, all things considered.” 

“I think that was a compliment,” Sam said, pulling her in for a hug. 

They made coffee, sat down at the table, and drank it while they plowed through the box of donuts. It was early still, the metallic taste of dawn in Castiel’s throat, worsened by the acidic coffee. He chewed slowly and thoroughly. 

He and Dean had been sleepless the night before, holding onto one another desperately, though without sex. Dean had asked if this was what nights were always like for Castiel, and he couldn’t bring himself to say that this was somehow worse. 

Krissy finally wandered into the kitchen, wearing a makeshift outfit of things she had pulled together from bunker storage. Practical women’s clothes were thin on the ground, but she did her best with the smallest pair of jeans she could find and a t-shirt that hung down to her knees. Charlie registered her presence with a brief look of concern that Castiel hoped Krissy didn’t see. 

“And here is our brave messenger,” she said, brightening. She took the rest of the donuts and handed them off to Krissy, who took the box with as much surprise as if it had been filled with kittens. Charlie refilled her coffee, poured some for Krissy, and spirited the girl away as if they were at a sleepover.

Dean rose to follow them, but Castiel put his hand on his arm and squeezed hard. There were things that truly were between women, a concept Dean would never understand. He sat down and sullenly finished his third donut.   
***

Having Charlie around breathed forgotten life into the bunker. None of them had been quite right since the news out of California started. Sam’s obsessive news-watching, Castiel’s constant worry about the bees – they had sort of wandered into a fog of coexistence, rather than living together. Charlie didn’t do anything in particular to change that. She didn’t throw open the curtains and let the light in or cook for them. Instead, she talked about things other than the end of the world, even though by necessity that topic had to be broached often. She got rooms ready for other hunters that would be coming; she checked all the weapons stores; she helped Krissy get some clothes that fit. 

Castiel helped her, and he found it was nice to have orders and projects once more. He washed sheets and made beds, cleared out dressers, and helped clean. He hadn’t done much cleaning as he had gotten more human, as that was usually Dean’s domain, but he took to it. It was harder than just blinking an eye and having a room in order, as it had been when he was running at full Grace. He welcomed the labor, though. It felt good to let his mind focus on something concrete. For the first time in months, he didn’t worry about the bees.   
***

Krissy came to him the next morning, early, before anyone else was up. Castiel was in the kitchen, getting breakfast together, when she came in. She looked refreshed and relaxed – due in no small part to the fact that she was wearing clothes that fit that she got to pick out for herself. Castiel wondered if Charlie had disclosed her moneymaking schemes, skimming pennies and such off right-wing organizations and into her bank account. She must have, for it was evident that Krissy had no money, and her pride would not have allowed for her to accept charity from a near stranger. 

She yawned and scratched her scalp. “Do I smell coffee, or is it a wonderful hallucination?”

“Coffee,” he said. “It’ll be ready in a few.” 

When it was ready, he poured her a cup, pushed the sugar and cream her way. She smiled. 

“You know my coffee preferences already.” 

“Well, I also remember how to speak most languages on earth, including all the dolphin dialects, so your coffee order is an easy one to keep in mind.” 

“You know, I’m glad Dean has you. It wasn’t what I expected for him, but I’m glad.” 

“Thank you.” He left out the part about him and Dean seeming to be written into the very music of the Spheres. He did not tell her that they had almost literally moved heaven and hell for each other before even kissing. 

She sipped her coffee and stared off into nothing. Finally, after a stretch of silent minutes, she said, “I need to try calling Aiden and Josephine.” 

Castiel nodded, sipped his own coffee. “Yes, I know they will want to know you made it.”

“Will you—” She cleared her throat, shook her head, and blinked back tears. “Will you sit with me while I do it?” 

He reached for her hand, put his over it. “Of course. But – you and Dean know each other better, and—”

She curled her fingers around the coffee cup. “Yeah, but – look, I don’t know anything about the God business or angels or whatever. I do know that I feel somehow peaceful when you’re around. Safe, a little bit. More than I’m used to, anyway. I know you’re not at full power anymore, but you’ve still got something.” 

He bowed his head. “I’m honored.” 

He took his cell phone from his pocket – a strange habit, as the only people he ever contacted lived in the bunker with him and were still asleep. Even so, carrying it was a strange human peccadillo that he picked up and couldn’t shake. He put the phone on the table between them, looking all the more scuffed and banged up as it sat on the scratched stainless steel table. 

Krissy stared down at it, put her finger on it, and spun it around on the table. Clicking the top button, she brought the screen up, and then clicked it back to darkness. 

“What if—”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try, and that is so much worse.” 

She nodded, wiped her eyes. The tears flowed freely by then. It took her a couple more tries, and finally, she dialed in the numbers. Her thumb hovered over “send” for a moment before she stabbed down on it, decisive. She wiped her eyes and reached for Castiel’s hand. He let her take it, even though her own was covered in drying tears. 

It seemed like minutes before anything happened, and with each ring, her face collapsed further into turmoil. Finally, just as she was about to hang up, a breathless voice crackled through the tiny speaker. 

“Hello? Hello?” 

“Oh my God, Aiden.” 

The connection sounded bad, even as it floated from the screen pressed against Krissy’s ear. Aiden’s voice came through tinny and distorted, every other word cutting out to blankness. 

“We’re coming, Aiden. I’m with the Winchesters. Do you hear me? I’m with Sam, Dean, and Castiel!” 

“Winchesters? You’re there?” 

“Yes!” 

“Good.” The line cut out again, and all they heard was, “Quickly.” Then the line went dead. 

She tried calling again and again, her finger frantically stabbing the green “Call” button. There was no answer. It didn’t even ring, just went straight to voicemail. She tried multiple times, getting more and more hysterical as she went, until Castiel finally pulled the phone from her grip. 

“What did he mean, quickly? Did he mean we need to get there quickly? Did he mean that there’s something coming quickly? What – what are we going to do?” 

He sat her down and put his hands on her shoulders, looked directly into her eyes. “We’re going to get as many people as we can here, and then we will go. You know hunters – we will be leaving within a few days.” 

“That’s too long! They might—”

“They might – the two most dangerous words for hunters. If we redline it all the way there, get there tomorrow night, and find that they’re surrounded, or something else has moved in, or whatever, then we can’t save anyone. We’re trapped as much as they are, and with cell service out for who knows how many miles, that ain’t an option.” Dean came in from the doorway and pulled up a chair next to Castiel. 

“We’ll call everyone we know, set something up, and do it right,” Castiel assured her. 

“It might be too late by then. I’ll go if you won’t. I’m not leaving my friends there to die.” 

She rose, but Dean grabbed her wrist. She slumped back down into her chair.

“They’re alive right now, ain’t they? You know that. Hold onto it. Don’t go charging off alone.” 

“Like you didn’t do that a hundred times?” 

“I did, and it nearly got me and everyone I love killed, on many occasions,” Dean said. “And I know that I sure as shit wouldn’t have listened to anyone back then either, but I am begging you to listen to me now. This ain’t some feisty house spirit. This is big, and it needs big guns.” 

She wiped her eyes, stared down at the table. 

“You’re gonna do what you’re gonna do, but if you have any respect for me, please at least think about what I just said.” 

“I won’t go,” she whispered. 

“Okay. Now, let’s go make some calls.”

Dean ushered Krissy out of the room, but Castiel didn’t move. Dean paused at the door and turned to look at him. 

“I – there’s one call I need to make. In private,” he said. 

Dean knew who he was talking about. He nodded and continued on to the main room.

There was an out-of-the-way study room at the back of the bunker. There were a few such sites in the complex, mostly disused now, but Castiel went there from time to time if he needed some time alone. He went there now to call Claire Novak.

He knew her phone number. He’d always know it, even if she changed it. In the music of the Spheres, fainter as time wore on, he heard a constant whisper of her phone number. He had called her before and she hadn’t been surprised, even though she had switched phones shortly before that. 

He paused before he dialed. Panic seized him with unpleasant “what if?” scenarios. What if she was dead? What if she had tried to forget it all and was in college or married or both? He needed to know, though, and he needed her to know that he still cared for her, even though he’d seen her a scant handful of times over the past years, even though both of them were too scuffed and beaten to properly keep in touch. 

She answered on the tenth ring, unhurried and unapologetic. 

“Claire?” 

A long pause, then, “Cas.” 

“The one and only.” 

“Thank god for that. I don’t think the universe could handle more than one.” 

“Yeah, probably not.” 

“You okay over there? How are things?” 

He tapped his finger on the dusty keys of an old typewriter. He barely remembered those contraptions. They’d never struck him as being particularly practical. Heavy, too easy to screw up. 

“I’m okay,” he said after a long while. “Have you been watching the news at all?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Well, I guess there are some – I guess it’s our kind of thing over there.” 

“Oh.” 

“Don’t get any ideas, Claire.” 

“I’m not.” 

“Claire.” 

“I’m not! It’s just that, you know, if you wanted some help, I would go.” 

He shifted in his seat, his scalp prickling. “Claire, listen to me. I do not want you to put yourself in the middle of this. We’ve called everyone we can, and they are on the way. I want you to stay safe.” 

“Fuck, Cas, I already said I wouldn’t do it.” 

“Promise me.” 

A heavy sigh on the other line. She was nearing thirty and she could still sigh to beat the band. “Fine. I, Claire Novak, solemnly swear to you, Castiel, Angel of the Absentee Lord, that I will not charge off to California to fight vampires. Happy?” 

“As a clam,” Castiel said. 

They chatted a while longer. She was in Minnesota presently, working in a small diner and living with some friends. She had a hard time settling, for which he couldn’t blame her. He really thought that all things considered, living an uprooted life with bouts of stability was about the best that could be hoped for. Talking with her was nice. In all honesty, a moment of normalcy was what he needed. Even though the plight of the world plagued his mind, for a brief glorious moment, he concentrated on Claire and her life. 

Far down a distant hallway, he heard Charlie calling for him. He said a hasty but heartfelt good-bye to Claire, and then slipped out into the hallway. Charlie still called for him, and he went to the sound of her.  
***

**Raise Your Glass High, for Tomorrow We Die**

Other hunters began to arrive. They came, as hunters always did, alone or in pairs. By the end of a week, the bunker was full of almost two dozen of them, every room and bed occupied. Each person brought weapons, car parts, camping gear – all the hunting essentials. 

To be a hunter was to live in a constant state of trauma. People were rarely driven into that life by intellectual curiosity or altruism that struck them out of the blue. They were driven into it by death, grief, and fear. A veil had to be lifted, for most people didn’t believe in the very existence of most things that hunters were all too familiar with. They started in trauma and they continued to live in trauma. They were chased, beaten, clawed, and tossed about by the things they hunted. It was the realm of heart-pounding nightmare for most, but hunters took the burden on in waking life, with no respite from the bogeymen that civilians got to leave behind when the fog of sleep lifted. Castiel knew all too well how this affected the old guard. Sam and Dean had to work for more than a decade to escape it, and even still, they were often taciturn and uncommunicative. 

This new crop wasn’t like Sam and Dean, or their father. They weren’t even quite like Rufus or Bobby. A new day had dawned among hunters, due in no small part to Dean actually forming a network. More grounded, they knew the value of working together and keeping in touch. They fought their personal demons as hard as they fought the real ones, and the effect was that they knew to stop by the bunker to relax, train, or research. They knew to call people every now and then, not just when they needed help. They knew to team up and share secrets, rather than keep them all to themselves. 

That’s not to say they didn’t eye each other from the corners or keep to themselves. They did. People who had seen loved ones eviscerated by creatures they had been told didn’t exist were not going to be the most trusting group of people in any given room. Hunters were still hunters. Compounding that, there was a man-made apocalypse on their hands. The fear and suspicion ran under every meal and conversation. People huddled together in small groups, talking in low voices about what they heard on the news or as they traveled. 

Some had come from other western states, and the news there was grim enough without a supernatural component. Those were places that reveled in their isolation, and they did not relish so many people moving in. Clashes broke out, often in violence. The police and National Guard had their hands full with the human element alone. 

Many people asked to pray with Castiel, and each request caused a brief spasm of fear in him. Praying was not what it used to be for him. He knew the guts of it, how it worked (or didn’t work). But when they looked at him with eyes pleading the way only humans could, he could hardly refuse. In any case, sitting in silence, clearing his mind, and focusing on finding the inner strength to fight the unpleasantness that lay ahead was perhaps the one thing he could do to ameliorate the constant unease that had plagued him for the better part of a year. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but this new development gave him a sense of duty and purpose. Before, he had merely been able to watch the news and murmur about how terrible it all was. He could only listen to the bees and other creatures. There was nothing for him to do, because he did not know how to fix these earthly problems. Now, however, he was getting closer to his area of expertise. He could fight monsters. He could comfort people. It wasn’t about him, he knew that as sure as he knew anything, but in his humanity he had picked up no small amount of egocentrism that dictated how his mind sorted things. 

At the end of a week, all the hunters who had committed coming to the bunker had arrived. Reunions had been made; all-night catching up had been done; endless bottles of beer and whiskey had been consumed. It dawned on them soon enough the enormity of their task. They were ready to mobilize.  
***  
Late one night, there was a knock on the door. 

Of course everyone had been awake and huddled in the main command center of the bunker, going over maps, and trying to figure out their best strategy for going in blind as they were. The discussion had been heated, with some salty language angrily thrown about, but they were doing their best. 

When there was a knock, everyone in the room tensed. In the following silence, all that could be heard was the drawing of guns and the click of bullets being shunted into chambers. 

Sam turned his attention to the security camera, and all eyes turned to the grainy black and white screen. A tall, thin black man stood on the step. He pounded again, and everyone jumped, even as they knew to expect it from his raised arm. 

He stepped back, looked around, and finally located the camera. He waved at it, and though there was no sound, he could be seen mouthing the words, “Let me in, Winchesters. I mean no harm.” 

A woman shouldered her way through the assembled group standing around the security monitor. Her name was Marla; she had come to the bunker once before for research on a nasty incubus infestation in her home state of Missouri. 

“Darius!” she yelled. “That’s Darius. He’s my brother.” 

She made a run for the door, but a quick-reflexed woman standing in the passageway caught her by the waist. 

“Hold on, Marla,” Dean said. “You know as well as I do that a person showing up unexpectedly could be compromised in any number of ways.” 

“I would know if something was wrong,” Marla protested. “He’s my brother.” 

“You know how many times I said that about my brother when he was compromised?” 

She pursed her lips and took a shaking breath through flared nostrils. She would not meet Dean’s eyes. 

“So follow me, but you can be goddamn sure that I’m going out there to see my brother.” 

“I would expect nothing less,” Dean said. 

Castiel, even after all these years of knowing better, wanted to tell Dean not to go. He refrained, of course, but the impulse was strong. 

All eyes turned to the grainy security monitor. The man at the door – Darius – continued to knock and call out. It seemed like an interminable eon, but eventually the door opened just enough for Marla’s face to be visible. He tried to hug her, but she held the door fast. Castiel – and indeed, everyone gathered – knew that Dean was most assuredly behind that door, ready to fire. If Darius was worth his salt, he would expect the same. 

Soon enough, the trio was back in the main command center, Marla with her arm around her brother’s waist as she wiped away tears. Dean stood behind them, and only Castiel would be able to see the tension around his eyes and the way he stood too stiffly, ready to spring into action. 

“Hey everyone,” Marla said with a shaking voice. “This is Darius. He’s not possessed, not a shifter, whatever.” 

A nervous laugh rolled out of the crowd, and they broke away to welcome Darius. The story pieced itself together: They had been on a hunt in Illinois and parted ways so Darius could take care of some business he left with a woman not too far from where they had been working. Marla, having a case of itchy feet, moved onto a reported poltergeist in Indiana. 

“I heard about the California thing,” he said. “Marla left about ten messages on my phones, said this was the place to meet. I came as soon as I could.” 

Dean nodded. “Anything to add?” 

Darius nodded. “Yeah, I heard from a friend of mine used to be based in Reno. He got out of there, but he said that’s the place. The government, in its infinite wisdom, has shepherded most of the refugees outside Lake Tahoe.”

“Fuck,” Dean said. 

“Yeah. My contact, he hightailed it up to the Canadian border, and he flat-out refused to come back down. About all I could get from him was this information, a couple months old.” 

Krissy had been standing by Sam’s side, but she stepped forward. “If anything, it’s spread. We were in Susanville and they started circling, but I think they were on the move. Makes more sense now – it’s not that far off from Tahoe.” 

Darius nodded. “There you go.” 

“Tahoe it is,” Dean said. 

“I guess most of us haven’t been out that way in a while.” 

An ashamed ripple went through the room, Castiel and Winchesters included. They all knew people that were out in California – hunters, civilians they had saved, whatever – and no one had thought to check it out when the news went pear-shaped. 

“I didn’t mean it as an accusation,” he said. “Or if I did, I’m accusing myself too.” 

“It’s okay,” Dean said, putting on his best forced smile. “We have a chance to make it right.” 

If Castiel knew anything of Dean – and he liked to think that he did – he knew it was just for show. He would absolve their guests, but he would not absolve himself.   
***

They decided to depart in stages, a few hours apart from one another, starting at daybreak on a Wednesday. Going west was a tricky business. Those who had come from the big square states told of roadblocks, military installations, police barricades, and other dystopian trappings. They agreed to depart two by two, each breaking off to take different state and county roads to wend their way over the plains, the Rockies, and the dusty deserts. 

They would meet in Reno and go from there en masse. Dean had a contact there, Evelyn, who had access to a house that would be big enough to accommodate sick, injured, and exhausted hunters and those they rescued. Evelyn had come to the bunker a while back to research a nasty haunting with a bloody history. 

They spent the next few days training, securing the bunker, and preparing for the journey. Inasmuch as hunters could work together, small companies of people were set about the varying tasks at hand. Auto maintenance, rations and supplies, weapons checks, making sure all the doors were locked and bolted at the bunker – each team took these in hand. Castiel could hardly believe his eyes, but there it was. In spite of himself, he felt a little cheated that this couldn’t have happened when Lucifer tried to bring about the end of the world. That had come close to undoing existence, not to mention undoing Sam and Dean. Where were they then? It was a different time, he knew that. He really did. But still, if he allowed his thoughts to wander unchecked, that was what came up. 

The nights had been long and late, and he’d scarcely seen Dean. They had wandered to bed in a daze at one or two in the morning, asleep before they could even kiss goodnight. But the night before they were to depart, they made it a point to go to bed early. Most everyone else was still up, huddled into tense conversations or checking their bags and weapons. 

There were some looks that followed Dean and Castiel down the hall and into their room, but neither of them cared. Every hunter they were in contact with knew the score between the two of them. It was the stuff of legend, really – meeting in the line of duty, working together, forming a bond, and then going even beyond that. Castiel could hardly believe it his own self. So everyone knew, and if they were perturbed by that or by the two turning in early, then fuck ‘em. They could go fight hags in Newfoundland for all he cared. 

Dean did give over a moment of their time going through their bags and their weapons cache again, while Castiel sat on the bed. 

“Are you going to give me the ‘last night on earth’ line?” 

Dean paused as he riffled through their collected t-shirts and jeans, turned back slowly to look at Castiel. “You serious?” 

Castiel shrugged. “Maybe a little.”

Dean zipped up the bag and then sprang across the room to pounce on Castiel. He kissed him obnoxiously, sloppily, with plenty of spit. 

“Well, you know, this is some really scary stuff we’re heading into.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“And we don’t know what’s gonna happen.” He kissed Castiel’s jaw. 

“No one does.” 

“So, you know, if shit goes down…” 

“Goes down,” Castiel snickered. 

“I’ve been a terrible influence on you.” 

“I believe you have.” Castiel looked him straight in the eye, and Dean kissed him for real this time. 

Tired though they were, they managed to have sex. It was cautious and restrained, counter to Dean’s old “last night on earth” tricks, for those had never had anything much behind them. After two decades, the doomsday clock was as close to midnight as it had ever been, and they actually had lives now. Gone were the days of Dean riding the bomb cowboy style as it crashed into the earth. Castiel was no longer Heaven’s stooge, ready for any pratfall. And so, the last night on earth actually meant something. It wasn’t a line to garner cheap thrills, but rather a statement of fact. They might die in the coming weeks. Worse yet, only one of them might die, the other left to live out his life alone. Castiel tried unsuccessfully to turn his mind off as they had sex. He tried to concentrate on Dean’s body, the way his neck smelled different than his shoulder or the way he moved on top of Castiel. He couldn’t, though, as the ghosts of all they’d lost loomed in the background and mingled with the intangible future of all they had left to take.  
***  
 **Until The Day You Die, This Is No Easy Ride**

The other teams left first. They set out in grim pairs, two or three to a vehicle. Some had arrived in the same configurations as those they were leaving with, but others were new friends, forged in loneliness and a desire to die among comrades. 

Krissy and Charlie left second to last, loaded into the Ford Ranger that Krissy had driven in. Dean fixed it up a little, put on new plates so as not to attract any attention if it was reported stolen, though that scenario seemed unlikely. After everyone else left, they stood in the kitchen with Sam, Dean, and Castiel. All of them stared at each other across the impossible chasm of the kitchen table. It was as likely to be a good-bye as it was to be a see-you-later. If it wasn’t the swollen mass exodus whose current they planned to drive against, it could be unfriendly locals mistaking them for transplants, and it could just as easily be the overzealous cops and soldiers that swarmed the West. That was to say nothing of the wendigoes, vampires, and whatever other shit had rolled downhill once the human population was compromised. 

“I can’t thank you enough for helping me,” Krissy said. 

“Thank us when we get to California, huh?” Sam said, trying to smile. 

She nodded. Castiel could tell she wanted to protest, but he knew as well as she did that it was inadvisable. 

Hugs abounded, and then the two were off, headed west on a bumpy county road that would lead them to a no less bumpy state road. The rendezvous was in a week. This left Dean, Sam, and Castiel standing around the kitchen table with cooling mugs of coffee in front of them. 

“We probably should head out,” Sam said. 

“Yeah.” Dean dragged the edge of his hand along the table, swept up toast crumbs, collected them in a small pile. He pushed it to the side and nudged them into his hand. 

“We’ve secured all the windows and doors,” Sam said. “The only one left is the main door, and it’s pretty heavily reinforced.” 

“Yeah.” Dean brushed the crumbs into the sink and sprayed the basin. 

“Come on,” Castiel said, taking his hand and leading him to the main door. “It’ll be here when we get back.” 

The old Dean made an appearance behind the eyes, the angry and cautious Dean. _If we get back_ , he seemed to say. It was a real worry, now more than ever. This wasn’t like anything they were used to. 

Sam grabbed their bags and headed for the door while Castiel ushered Dean out. He took a deep breath as he exited, the cloud lifting. As he looked to the east, the sun still making its ascent, he came back into himself and headed to the waiting Impala. Sam and Castiel exchanged a look, a rueful sort of smile. Dean was back, whatever that might mean in this brave new world.   
***  
For the briefest period, it was like old times. It was the three of them, the open road, and a case. They stayed to the most desolate roads, cracked blacktops nearly overgrown with trees. 

The first night, they made it halfway across Colorado. They could have made it longer, but they elected to find a motel and make some calls. This whole communication thing was fairly new, but they took to it with a kind of curiosity. Dean actually had a file typed with phone numbers. Sam, ever the researcher, was keeping tabs on strange occurrences along their route, and texting people as needed. 

“What are you smirking at?” Dean asked Castiel. 

“I’m not smirking, let alone at anything.” 

“Bullshit. I know that smug look.” 

Sam looked up from his laptop, raised one eyebrow. He was good at deciphering the beginnings of fake fights and real fights, of which there had been a few over the years, some culminating in a few shattered dishes and slammed doors. Sam seemed to assess the threat of an actual fight as fairly low. He went back to reading. 

“I don’t have a smug look. I mean, I do, but I’m not using it currently.” 

The room was vaguely Wild West themed, with faux rustic chairs surrounding a tottering table – the base of operations. Castiel had been sitting on the bed, the bedspread of which was festooned with little lassos and cowboys on horses. 

Dean sprang from his chair across the scant distance to the bed, shoving Castiel’s tablet out of harm’s way and wrestling him to the ground. He laughed as he did it, his hands finding easy purchase on Castiel’s sides. Castiel scrabbled underneath Dean, tried to gain the upper hand and failed. Dean knew he had won this impromptu match, so he eased up and sat astride Castiel, smiling and looking ten years younger. 

Sam cleared his throat as a reminder that he was in the room and could only stand so much, prompting Dean to climb off Castiel and extend his arm. Castiel took his hand and sprang up, slapped him on the shoulder, and planted a wet kiss on his cheek. 

“I left a thing out there.” Sam waved his hand at the general direction of outside, and hastened along on his totally made up errand. 

In his absence, Dean and Castiel stole a brief kiss. Sam didn’t have a problem with them showing affection, of course. It happened often enough that Dean’s hand found Castiel’s as they all sat on the couch and watched TV and things like that. But even Castiel – king of cluelessness – had to admit that there was a charge between them that didn’t usually appear outside the safety of their shared bedroom. 

“Obviously, the end of the world is a terrible thing—”

“But this feels nice,” Castiel finished for him. 

“Yeah.” 

Sam make a great deal of opening the door loudly, along with banging the book he carried against the frame and looking everywhere except where Dean and Castiel still stood holding onto each other. They disengaged, resumed their research and their check-ins, and the business of trying to save people.  
***

Castiel, of course, knew that their nostalgia road trip would end soon enough. It lurked in the back of his mind like the beginnings of a headache, and he tried his best to ignore it. 

But as they made their way over the Rockies and then the Wasatch, he felt that something was amiss. They were going too fast for him to talk to any creatures, and it took more than he had to commune with the Spheres at all, but he still sensed disquiet. Not wanting to cause alarm, he said nothing. 

Then, as they skirted Salt Lake City and edged along the Idaho border, Dean said, “There’s a little green station wagon that’s been flirting with us for about six hours.” 

“That so?” Sam asked, putting down his sun visor and looking in the mirror. 

Castiel saw, through the rearview, in the crevasse between his head in the back seat and Dean’s in the front, that there was indeed a little green wagon following them at a distance. It was trying to be casual and certainly didn’t follow too close, but it was there all the same. It started to explain his discomfort, but it wasn’t until he caught sight of the license plate that he figured out why. 

Minnesota. 

Claire’s current home. 

“It’s Claire.” 

“What?” Dean asked. “Did you see her face?” 

“No, the license plate – it’s from Minnesota. That’s where she was staying.”

“What are we going to do? She’s nowhere near experienced enough for a job like this,” Sam said.

“I know. Pull over at the next gas station.” Castiel pulled out his phone and sent a text to Claire. 

_we see you back there. pull over when we do._

Dean found a Gas’n’Sip soon enough, and they pulled off. Sam went in for some snacks while Dean and Castiel waited by the car. 

“You think she’ll show?” Dean asked, squeezing Castiel’s hand. 

Sure enough, not a minute later, the green station wagon pulled in and parked next to them. Claire got out of the car, head hanging. 

Castiel hadn’t seen her in a couple of years. He realized with a shock that she was now about the same age Dean had been when he and Sam started working on their own, when their dad disappeared and they continued on the “family business.” She had long ago left the excessive eyeliner behind, though she had a few tattoos gracing her arms, and she favored black over most colors. 

“I’m coming with you,” she said. 

“No,” Castiel said. 

“The hell you are,” Dean said. 

“Fuck you! I’m not the damaged little fucking kid you left on Jody Mills’ doorstep,” she protested. 

“You’re not a hunter, either.” 

She crossed her arms, jutted her chin out. “What if I am? What if I’ve been looking into some things?”

“We need a little more than ‘looking into some things’,” Dean said. 

“This is a big one,” Castiel added. 

Tears welled up in her eyes, adding a crystalline quality to the blue. He saw the similarities between her eyes, then, and the ones that stared back at him from the mirror – the ones that used to belong to her father. 

“You guys are the only thing like family I have left.” 

If Castiel wasn’t mistaken, the way Dean wiped his eyes indicated that he himself might have a case of the waterworks. The situation being what it was, he elected not to say anything about it. 

“All right, how about this? Meet us in Reno. I have a contact there who’s going to set up a way station for people coming back. Medical care, exorcism, dead man’s blood, whatever. I’ll call her and let her know to expect you, and you can help that way. You will not be fighting, do you hear me?” 

She rolled her eyes, a remnant of the angry teenager that Castiel had scooped from juvy so long ago. “Fine, whatever. And like, don’t think you’re my stepdad just because your husband is wearing my actual dad’s old meat suit.” 

“First of all,” Dean said, “show some fucking respect. Second of all, we’re not married.” 

“Yeah, and what about that, huh? It’s been legal for like a decade.” 

“Claire,” Castiel said in his best warning tone. 

She raised her arms up. “Fine, whatever.” 

Sam came out of the store carrying a bulging plastic bag in one hand and a package of powdered mini-donuts in the other. He’d already opened the package, and powdered sugar had sifted onto his shirt. 

“Everything okay?” he asked, mouth full of cheap, processed donut. 

Dean raised his eyebrows. “I might ask you the same thing.” 

Sam shrugged. “I got nostalgic. Want one?” 

Dean didn’t grace that with an answer. Instead, he dialed his contact in Reno to let her know Claire would be coming. 

They got back onto the road soon enough and Castiel knew that he would spend the next leg of the journey looking at Claire’s car in the rearview mirror. 

Sam, perhaps coaxed into a coma by all the processed food, fell asleep after a short while. Castiel leaned forward, on Dean’s left-hand side, to whisper in his ear. 

“I don’t mind that we’re not married.” 

“We’re not not-married.” 

“I don’t have any of the documents required for marriage. I don’t think I could even rent an apartment.” 

“Well, that would be an easy enough fix if it ever came down to it, but I know what you mean.” 

“I would do it if you wanted to, but I am content living in sin.” 

“That’s about the only way I know how to live.”  
***

They spent a night in a motel room west of Salt Lake City. The clerk at the desk stared them down when they checked in, raising an eyebrow at Dean and Castiel asking for a single bed while Sam and Claire asked for two. Dean leaned forward, elbows planted on the desk, and stared right back. 

“Anything else to add?” 

“No. No, sir,” the man said, hastening to activate their key cards and send them on their way. 

Castiel thought about how lucky it was that all of them were armed to the teeth and knew how to fight, but he had to wonder what things were like for people who couldn’t. He said a quick prayer for them, and for the man who clearly hadn’t caught scent of which way the wind blew. 

Even though they were road-weary and tense, they made it a point to have sex in the motel bed. Before they got started, Dean threatened to conspicuously finish on the bedspread, but Castiel reminded him that it would be a hapless housekeeper and not the steely-eyed clerk that would have to deal with it. He grudgingly grabbed a handful of tissues from the bathroom. 

***  
The road had thinned out considerably, and there was hardly any traffic going in either direction. Dean gunned it as hard as he could, the Impala’s engine roaring underneath them. The desolate roads they kept to had the distinct feeling of being too quiet. 

Things were especially stark when they entered Nevada. Never a populated place, and lacking the trees to cover the mountains, it was even drier and more desolate than he remembered. The northeastern part where they had entered had once been somewhat green, but now it looked like Death Valley. Bleached burro and bighorn skeletons dotted the road, and it was like seeing a king forgotten on a battlefield. Castiel could scarcely even sense any coyotes laying in wait for sundown. 

They stopped at an abandoned gas station to see if the place had been looted. There was no evidence of that, and perhaps with good reason. They were half a day’s drive from anywhere, and far off any main road. 

They found two gas cans on the side of the building and filled them up with as much as was left at the pumps. Claire hauled them in her wagon, another worry for Castiel, though one he did not voice. 

Krissy called in to say that she and Charlie had been rerouted to I-80 at one point and that it was chaos. Police and military vehicles could be seen at every exit and at any overpass that looked down onto regular streets. It took them nearly half a day to get out of the bungle, and even then highway patrol had trailed them for miles until they finally turned in at a driveway. Castiel was much relieved that the police had not resorted to following people into private residences, though he was sure that was next, and he was even more sure that Darius and Marla would have had a different story to tell, had it happened to them. 

“I figure we’d at least have to explain to one cop what we were doing out here, but it sounds like they’ve all been rerouted,” Dean said. 

“You know we’re going to have to make this quick, don’t you?” Sam asked. 

Dean nodded. “Before they start spreading out resources.” 

“Two weeks, tops.” 

“We’ll talk about it when we get there,” Dean said. 

Castiel’s heart did a double take. He wanted to save people, wanted to save as many as he could, but how on earth could they risk more than a couple weeks? Sam shifted and looked out the window; Castiel nudged the back of his seat with his knee. They would have to work together to make this happen and get Dean off the scent. At least they were the two most qualified to do so.   
***

**Battle Born**

Looking at Reno as they rolled into the town via back roads, he thought to himself that even God the Father couldn’t destroy a place quite like humans could. It was the biggest city they had seen since Salt Lake – the only city, in fact. Keeping to Nevada’s back roads, they had seen maybe a few settlements that still functioned as towns, but nothing like this. 

Reno had never been grand, but this was beyond the pale. Windows in the hotels had been broken; sooty remnants of fires left their fingerprints on the bleached buildings. Tattered, charred curtains hung from the gaping holes. Some smaller hotels were just piles of rubble. 

Dean’s friend Evelyn lived on the edge of town in a house that would be at home in Mexico. The place had a gate at the front, closed off and guarded by two hunters in olive drab jackets. They opened it without question at the sight of the Impala. The gate opened onto a long driveway lined with dying trees, a large rectangle of a yard that was probably lovely when there was water, and a massive white stucco house that loomed like an ominous afterthought. 

Evelyn stood on the front step, barefoot. She wore jeans and a t-shirt, her hair pulled back, but she somehow managed to make it look formal and dignified as though she wore a fine gown.

They parked close to the house and she hugged each of them in turn, even Claire, who she didn’t know. 

“Come in, come in. You can move the car later. First, relax a little. Maybe have some food. It isn’t much, but it’s something.” 

“Thanks,” Sam said, darting his eyes toward Dean. _Where’d you find this one?_ he seemed to ask. 

Dean raised his eyebrows and shrugged minutely. 

Inside, it was like a party. No, it actually _was_ a party. They walked through the front door, and the house contained there was spacious, bright, and filled with people. There was a large foyer and a living room clearly visible. Armchairs, settees, and couches dotted these spaces, arranged in such a way as to allow the maximum amount of people without being stifling. The Winchesters and Castiel appeared to be one of the last teams to arrive; most everyone from the bunker was already there, sitting and chatting and drinking beer. 

Darius and Marla sat talking to Charlie, who looked more relaxed than Castiel had ever seen her. 

Evelyn led them down a long hall to a small room. There were two bunk beds, each on an opposing wall, with a narrow rectangle between them. One bunk bed had two duffel bags already on it – Krissy’s and Charlie’s. 

“They said you wouldn’t mind bunking with them. I have a lot of space here, but not enough for single rooms,” Evelyn said apologetically. 

“No problem at all,” Sam said, claiming the top bunk. 

Evelyn looked down at the floor. “Look, things aren’t great here, either. We’ve had people coming in for a long time. And you guys aren’t going out on any happy mission. But it’s important to celebrate a little bit anyway. So, please, I hope you can relax a little and join us.”

“Sure. Okay,” Dean said. Castiel watched for any further signs of misgivings, but Dean actually looked like he might relax. 

Sam showed no signs of relaxing. He quietly closed the door when Evelyn had shuffled down the hall. 

“What do you know about her?” he whispered. 

Dean rubbed his forehead. “Evelyn Esparza, thirty-five years old, lived in this area most of her life. Parents killed by a vamp when she was in college. She mostly hunts around the west, but she was at the bunker a while back, as you might remember.” 

“You know her before then?” 

“Come on, Sam! Just because she’s encouraging us to relax a little, there’s something wrong with her?” 

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you, of all people.” 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” 

Castiel stepped between the two of them, he pushed Dean back gently. “There is certainly reason for caution, but it might not hurt to join everyone. Besides, if we’re going to be on the lookout for something strange, wouldn’t the middle of the party be the best place to do that?” 

A muscle worked in Sam’s jaw. “Dammit, Cas.” 

“I know, I know. I’m good.” 

They took off their coats and shoes and prepared to stay a while.

***  
In true hunter fashion, reality snaked its way into everyone’s minds. Though the next day started off like an extension of the night before with everyone merely exchanging coffee for their beers, it quickly became apparent that they knew it was time to head out. By ten, the mood had become considerably more somber, the kitchen and living room eventually falling silent, as all eyes sought Dean, Sam, and Castiel. 

Dean finally noticed this, or rather, acknowledged that he noticed it. Castiel was sure he had felt the eyes on him for a long while before he said anything. 

“All right, who has the maps?” 

Charlie came forward with an armful of tattered maps, as well as two tablets secured into sturdy cases. Those assembled at the table hastened to clear it off, stacking dishes and moving condiments to make room for these items. Dean looked around at them, a questioning look, and Castiel knew it was the same question that had plagued him since the first apocalypse: _Why me?_ Why was he the Righteous Man? Of course, Castiel understood it as a connection of bloodlines. He had the brains of the Winchesters, the fiber of the Men of Letters woven into the warp and woof of his DNA, along with the brawn of the Campbells. He was the eldest son in a line of eldest sons. He was the Righteous Man because it had been foretold, had been spun into existence by nimble, unseen fingers. But prophesy could not foretell the effects of tragedy. It could not foretell that John Winchester would cauterize his wounds with alcohol and harsh words. Prophesy could not foretell that Dean himself would do the same, that the human mind didn’t understand the golden threads that were plucked to form the Music of the Spheres. Castiel had traveled both worlds. He had been created in similar ways as Dean, forged and hardened in like crucibles, but he had been angel first and man second. Dean had only his humanity – his greatest strength, but also the one thing that impaired him from seeing how special that humanity was.   
***

**Covered by Santa Muerte’s White Cloak, Shielded From Enemy Eyes**

Not long after they entered California, the statues began to appear. At first, they thought it was a grim joke – a skeleton dressed in a bridal gown with a crown of dried, dead flowers. Of course, being who they were, they stopped to investigate and make sure it wasn’t a real human skeleton. It was not, and they drove on, half-forgetting about the strange, bony lady. But they went another few miles on a desolate back road, and there she was again. This time, she wore a white cloak and carried a plastic scythe. Candles, coins, and food had been placed at her feet. They drove through one abandoned town and saw a house with one of these statues embedded in a shrine in the front yard. This one had a black cloak, not unlike a nun’s habit, and she carried scales along with her scythe. This one, they stopped to check out, and they found a candle nearby, long burned out. It was the kind that came in a long glass cylinder, and on it there was a picture of the same figure along with the words “Santa Muerte.” 

“Saint Death?” Sam asked. 

Castiel’s vision swam, his heart pulsated, and even though the air was dry, he suddenly felt himself bathed in stinging sweat. Santa Muerte was old, ancient even. Pre-Columbian cultures called her Mictecacihuatl and revered her as the protectress of the dead in the afterlife. In her modern incarnation, she was known as a powerful folk saint, a miracle worker. Too many veils had been lifted for Castiel to be as blindly faithful as he once had been, but one thing he knew for sure: Every creature on this earth, from the bees to the whales, died. Dean would die one day; Sam would die; Castiel himself probably had numbered days. That there was something beyond this life was certain, but what it really meant after Heaven and Hell had been torn asunder was anyone’s guess. Maybe Santa Muerte knew. 

“You know her?” Dean asked. 

Castiel tried to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth, and there was precious little spit with which to do it. Finally he managed to croak out, “Not personally.” 

That was probably for the best. Santa Muerte was known for being as benevolent as her adherents wished. She would protect some and destroy others. She was terrifying in her vast range of power, in her ancient duties, and in the secret that she alone beheld – that of death itself. Oh, there was Death, the pale rider, but the non-man they had dealt with in the Apocalypse was only one of her servants. And he knew the mysteries insofar as his duties needed the mysteries, but Santa Muerte knew them herself. She _was_ the mystery. 

Dean placed his hands on Castiel’s shoulders, led him back to the car. He sat him down and handed him some water. He stroked Castiel’s face and ran cool fingers through his hair. 

“You okay?” 

“I’m fine. Just – if this is her territory, we better leave an offering.” 

“What? Isn’t that, like, idolatry?” Sam asked. 

Castiel was already pulling change from his pockets. He tried to stand, but Dean pushed him down. 

“Do you have heatstroke or something?” 

He tried to explain to them, but he tripped over his words. He finally managed to take some deep breaths. The shock and fear subsided. 

“I am not having a heatstroke, and it is not idolatry to leave Santa Muerte an offering. I mean, some earthly authorities might say it is, but I know better.” 

He got up, pushed past Dean and Sam, and went to the statue. He placed his coins on it and asked her to accept it, meager though it was. Dean and Sam put a handful of coins on the statue too, still dazed and unsure about the purpose. At least they trusted Castiel enough to follow him on that. 

“We must tread lightly,” he said, going back to the car. 

Dean followed him while Sam lingered behind. Taking Castiel’s wrist, he pulled him close. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“I promise that I am,” he said. 

“You think she’ll make an appearance?” 

Castiel looked around and considered the bleached, bone-dry rocks, the blazing sand, the cloudless sky. “She’s already here,” he said. “She’s all around us. Look at this place.”   
***

Under normal circumstances, it would have taken them about an hour or two to get to their destination. But in this world, it looked to take about half a day. The state and county roads had been severely neglected. In addition to massive wear and tear, they had been damaged. Some kind of storm or minor earthquake had cracked it. Dean drove as slow as Castiel had ever seen, taking care not to damage the Impala. A cracked axel out here would be a disaster. 

Castiel’s lower half had begun to go numb. He dozed in the backseat a little, the heat causing his vision to swim and his head to feel as though it were packed with cotton. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, the aching in his rear end nothwithstanding. He adjusted as best he could to get out of the sun and spread out a little so his legs didn’t fall asleep. 

“Glad I don’t have to ride with Krissy,” Sam said. 

Dean crawled to thirty miles an hour as the road dipped underneath them. “No kiddin’. She must be beside herself.”

Suddenly, the car lurched forward as Dean slammed on the brakes. Castiel jolted upright out of his stupor. His eyes followed what Dean had stopped for, and what both men stared at intently through the windshield. 

There, in the middle of the road, stood a woman. She wavered before their eyes like the heat waves that came off the road, shimmering and ephemeral. Her cloak at once was pearlescent, brilliant, and also dusty and tattered. Similarly, her face was both a beautiful woman in full commanding bloom and a bleached skeleton. The grim set of her mouth shimmered against the grinning skull. 

“It’s her,” Castiel whispered. 

She stared into the car, her gaze steely and impervious. He felt no malice from her, only the regal bearing that commanded respect and fear. 

Her voice came into his head, rich and sonorous. “You are correct, Castiel. Come out of the car.” 

He did as he was told, with no consideration for the fact that they were sitting in the middle of a cracked road in the desert. He stumbled from the car and went to her, of course not daring to look her in the face. Sam and Dean followed suit, and he knew it was because she had summoned them. They all stood before her, heads bowed. 

“Holy Death, please forgive us for trespassing on your territory.” Castiel’s voice shook. 

“On the contrary. You are going to help me.” 

The road and desert shifted. They found themselves in a great stone chamber with no windows. The doorway led only to another stone chamber. The ceilings seemed impossibly high. 

“What the hell?” Dean looked around for his car, but the car wasn’t there. The desert wasn’t there. 

“No, not quite.” She smiled, and it was almost worse to see her red lips spread over the skeleton grin. 

“How – how are we supposed to help you?” Sam asked. “Especially since we’re, um, wherever this is?” 

“It’s not a place. Not as you can conceive of it, anyway. Don’t think too much about it. I need you sane if you’re going to help me.” 

“Sane?” Dean croaked. 

“Yes. If you think too much about the shifts and such that have to come together to bring you here, then you’ll lose your mind.” 

“Thanks for looking out,” Sam said, “but we are on a really tight schedule here. We’ve got a major operation. Whatever you need after that, we’ll help, but—”

“No. We have the same mission, you see. As for time tables, I believe I already told you not to worry about that.” 

The nuances of time manipulation had slipped from Castiel’s memory, though he used to know the mathematics behind it as well as he knew Enochian. He remembered it vaguely, like a long-ago dream. But he knew the basics. They would return to their car at the exact moment she had appeared. If she needed them to appear moments before or after, they would appear then. He also knew that she was right: if a human (or even a mostly-human) mind were to try and perceive these things, that mind would break. 

“Let’s listen to what she has to say.” He squeezed Sam’s arm, and the younger Winchester glanced over at him as though seeking reassurance. Castiel couldn’t promise that, but he hoped that the fact they were all together and unscathed was enough to keep him from fighting. That, he was sure, would be perceived as insolence. 

“Your companion is wise,” the lady said. “I repeat: We have the same mission.” 

“We try to keep people alive,” Dean said. 

The live face disappeared and the skeleton was the only one that could be seen. In the eyes, only lightning. Then, she was back. 

“You don’t know it, but you keep them alive for me. These creatures you fight, they try to take what is mine. They try to force my hand, and the hands of others such as myself, others that are older even than the God that created this one.” She nodded at Castiel. “These monsters have no honor. They cannot see the fabric of time and existence, of life and death, the way I can. They want only to feed, to glut themselves.” 

“Why’s it matter to you?” Dean asked. “I mean, you get them in the end, don’t you? If it’s a vamp or a bus, does it matter all that much?” 

“Again, I cannot explain the particulars to you, but suffice it to say that it does matter. I know when to cut the silver thread. These monsters do not.” 

“And they aren’t fated to just, like, die right then? Whenever it happens?” 

“Were you fated to die when you did? What about your brother? Your lover?” 

“Fair point,” Sam said. 

“Further, many of these people are _my_ people. They pray to _me_ , leave offerings for _me_ , and honor _me_. They are under my protection.” 

“All right, I know there’s no point in trying to tell you no,” Dean said. “I mean, I have a pretty high opinion of my abilities, and I know I am not going to stop you if you have your mind set on it. But if you kill whatever we find out there, aren’t you doing the same thing? Taking someone when it ain’t their time?” 

Once again, the life-like visage slipped, and there was nothing but ancient bone and star stuff. “I am the mistress of all death. These creatures are unclean. They have their lord, and he will receive them.” 

“Who is that?” 

“Dean, don’t,” Castiel whispered. 

Dean narrowed his eyes, and Castiel knew there would be a reckoning later. Fine by him – that would mean Dean didn’t anger her and would actually make his way home. 

“You have chosen your spouse well,” she said. “He is wise. Listen to him.” 

“We’ll certainly be glad to have your help,” Castiel said. 

“Get the humans to safety. I shall take care of the rest.” 

There was a brief flash, and they were back on the cracked asphalt, staring down at an empty road. Santa Muerte was nowhere to be seen, but they knew that she was there. 

“I guess we keep going,” Sam said. 

“Now, why the hell couldn’t she just transport us to where we need to go?” 

“Don’t disrespect her. She doesn’t think like any creature you’ve ever met. She’s literally older than you can imagine.” 

“All right, all right. No disrespect intended.” He glanced around furtively. 

The car ride after that took on a tone of oppressive wonder. Trying to fathom something as powerful as her, and then the weight of their current mission – it was enough to unhinge anyone, even this group. Perhaps even moreso, for they were of a precious few who could even comprehend it all. 

“So Death’s boss is going to help us keep people from dying.” Dean shook his head. “That’s a new one. I didn’t think I’d ever get to hear a new one again, but there it is.” 

“Yeah, I’m glad I can’t say that stranger things have happened. That’s impressive.” 

Though Castiel still bore a modicum of resentment that he had been pulled into this mission at all, though he still wished he could have been a distant observer listening only to the bees and the winds, he felt at least a bit of comfort they had her on their side. Well. She wasn’t on anyone’s side. She knew and understood great plans and the biggest of big pictures. Sides didn’t really come into play there. After all, she was working with them because it was her own choice. That was the only side she knew, the impartiality of death.   
***  
 **Did We Travel All This Way Just to Survive?**

They stopped outside the town. It shimmered in the distance, a few low buildings collapsing into dust and the thoroughfare into town blocked with burned out cars. The cars had been painted with various protection symbols. One of the buildings nearest the perimeter had been marked with all manner of demon trapping sigils. There were a few obscure ones. Someone had done a good amount of homework to make that happen. 

They took turns passing binoculars around and tried to see any of their comrades. The town was silent and still. 

Suddenly, a flash of silver light and the smell of decaying roses. The white lady appeared next to them. 

“They are alive. Your friends, and the people they are there to rescue. But their supplies are low. Many have been injured. It will be a long drive back.” 

“Before we get into this mess, I have a question,” Dean said. Castiel held his breath. He wasn’t ready to be a widower just yet. 

Their ally waited patiently, but she too looked skeptical. 

“All right, I mean no disrespect here. I promise you that. And if I do offend, I understand if you punch my clock early. But I have to know – if these people are _your_ people, can’t you just go in there, smite whoever needs it, and teleport them to safety?” 

She genuinely contemplated this. Her brow – or the illusion of it – furrowed. “Yes and no. Technically speaking, I could. In fact, I would much rather do that. However, there are certain balances that must be maintained. There are other powers out there, almost as old as I am, and nearly as powerful. They could not harm me, of course, but they would be . . . annoying.” 

Dean nodded. “As good a reason as any, I guess.” 

“Now, I have not yet approached. But I can see. Your people have clustered in the middle of town. They have the survivors with them.”

“How should we do this?” Sam asked. 

She pointed, her cloak falling back to reveal a bony hand. “I’ll enter there. There are some demons lurking about. Those will be easy, and I shall take great pleasure in sending their ashes to their master. There are other demons, other creatures. They will be easy.” 

In a flash, she was gone. No other strategy, no explanation. Poof. The air beside them was empty. Soon enough, bolts of lightning struck a building. Plumes of black demon smoke tried to escape into the air, only to be pulled back down. A net of lightning wove itself around a writhing mass of these things. 

“Well, fuck. I guess that’s our cue,” Dean said. They drove as close as they dared, parked the car, and grabbed their weapons. 

Entering into the town – or what was left of it – threw everything into hyper-focus. In the blazing white sunlight, any color Castiel’s eyes could attach to burned bright, too saturated. Demons screamed. In the distance, humans screamed. Other creatures screamed. And over it all, a tidal wave of sound, was Santa Muerte’s own scream. Unlike anything Castiel had ever heard, it ricocheted off the dilapidated walls, shattered any remaining windows, and rolled out into the endless desert. He was sure they could hear it all the way to the coast. Pure anguish, rage, and everything in between, it was at once in perfect alignment with the Spheres while still maintaining a dissonant timbre all its own. 

“In there,” he said, pointing to an old, dilapidated post office. 

Once a beautiful, staid façade of sandy brick, the place had been painted all over with demon-repellant symbols, angel-repellant symbols, and any other sigil, glyph, or sign that would ward off all but human creatures. 

It was only a block away, and they could have made it in decent time, except a group of snarling, disheveled creatures rounded a corner. They sneered and lumbered toward the trio, surrounded them in the sort of languid fashion favored by demons who always felt they had a smug advantage. But these were not demons. They did not have the foul scent and true face and that Castiel could see, even with depleted stores of angelic senses. 

“Croatoan,” Castiel whispered. 

“What? Aw, fuck,” Dean said. 

The crowd moved, then, in a sudden rush of mass. They lunged toward Sam, Dean, and Castiel, who barely had time to react. As he started to fight, Castiel felt how out of practice he was. His muscles seared as they stretched; his blood rushed to his neck and face; his whole body seemed to light on fire. But he had to keep going. There was an infected creature on top of Sam, bony hands around his neck, ready to strangle the life out of a man Castiel called _brother_ , and Castiel reacted even though his body demanded that he stay put. He smashed the offender over the head, the butt of his gun cracking against its skull. It staggered back, stunned. 

The fight moved in a shuffle of dust and blood toward the post office, and as they got closer, Castiel glimpsed frightened faces pressed against the filthy windows. They were human, emaciated and nearly run out of steam. He wanted to call out to them, but he had to keep fighting. 

Suddenly, a rush of hunters erupted from the door. They carried bats, guns, two-by-fours with nails, and any other blunt instrument. They set upon the creatures with brute force and barbaric violence. The dusty, cracked street on which this match played out became sticky and caked in blood. 

More people in the fray did not exactly equal success. The tides quickly turned in favor of the horde, and some of the humans fell to the ground. But all was not lost. A blaze of light and the crash of wind swooped down from above. Santa Muerte alighted on the pavement, shook the earth, and set her scythe upon the mass. 

When all was said and done, the street settled into preternatural silence. The air stood perfectly still. The whole episode had lasted about forty-five minutes. 

Santa Muerte presided over the dead, placed her hand above each slain human. No visible change or movement registered in Castiel’s mind, but the bodies seemed more at peace as she did that. 

“There is a vampire nest in an old school. Once that has been dispensed with, it will be over.”

“It’s never over for us,” Dean said. 

Castiel braced for impact, for her retribution to his insolence. Instead, she laid her hand gently on Dean’s cheek. “It will end someday. Your service will be rewarded.” 

“Thanks,” was all he said, though Castiel could be certain that a cutting remark lurked in his mind. 

Dean tried to take a roll call of the remaining hunters. Castiel saw his eyes alight on each of their people – Krissy and Charlie stood out most of all, and Darius and Marla were still there, but others were not present. Everyone was so dirty and tired-looking that he couldn’t tell if they’d been there a day or a week or their whole lives. 

A commotion issued from the post office, and a woman threw herself against the glass. Hands held her back. She strained forward. In the horrible stillness of the town, they could hear her: 

“Take me, Santa Muerte! Take me to be with my son and my husband! I have prayed to you and gave offerings!” 

The other hunters stared at their benefactor, seeing her for the first time. How had she appeared to them? Or had she appeared at all? Castiel wondered. 

She disappeared a moment, and there was a flash of light inside the post office. Some of the hunters tried to run to it, but Dean, Castiel, and Sam held them back. 

“Don’t. Whatever she’s going to do, let her do it,” Dean said. 

The man whose arm he held tried to protest and Dean silenced him. Santa Muerte reappeared in the street. The woman was no longer at the window, and Castiel dared not ask what had become of her. 

“We are losing light, and they will be up soon,” she said. 

She led the charge to the old school. It had probably been built at the start of the twenty-first century and had probably been considered fine in its day. The outside was faded but cheerful, a bobcat drawn on the side. As they crept closer, the signs of vampire infestation appeared: broken windows, broken doors, bloody hand and footprints. 

Santa Muerte led them all through the school and stopped near the middle. It was a kindergarten classroom. Construction paper flowers and egg carton caterpillars decorated the hall outside. The window in the door, however, had been boarded up and spray painted black. Santa Muerte blasted it open with a flick of her wrist. Inside, amid the destruction of the classroom, laid several vamps. They were tangled on the floor on the nap mats that children had once used. 

Santa Muerte flicked her wrists again and the windows burst outward in a spray of glass. The shards were so fine that they reminded Castiel of dandelion fluff floating in the wind. 

The vamps rose quickly, their skin bubbling and blistering as the sun hit them. The hunters made quick work of them, with heads and limbs being summarily hacked off. Blood ran an inch deep on the scuffed linoleum before long. 

“That it?” Dean asked when it was over. 

Santa Muerte nodded. “That is it.” She held out a bony hand. “Thank you for your assitance. It will not be forgotten.” 

Dean shook her hand, nodded. “I got to say, I never thought I’d have a job like this one. It ain’t entirely unwelcome, I guess, circumstances notwithstanding.” 

She laughed the laugh of a graveyard wind. “Someday you will come to my domain, and we will drink deep and tell stories.” 

“Later, rather than sooner, if you don’t mind.” 

With that, she disappeared into the growing darkness.   
***

Back in the center of town, the people huddled fearfully in the post office vestibule. They stared out at the hunters until someone shouted the exorcism incantation. No black smoke rose from anyone’s mouth. The group rushed to the hunters, hugging and kissing and thanking them as a liberating army. 

Castiel, Dean, and Sam smiled at them, accepted their thanks, and shot looks among themselves that told all that needed to be said. It was only a matter of time before this happened again. There was no reason to think that demons hadn’t deployed the croatoan virus elsewhere. There was an awful lot of land still drying up with drought. 

They rested a day before getting people together to go back to Reno. Everyone else held a meager party, but Castiel, Charlie, and the Winchesters sat back away from the crowd. They sat under a derelict awning of an old hardware store, the tattered remains hanging over their heads. All they could find for chairs were the white plastic injection molded ones that were ubiquitous the world over. 

“Well, we did it,” Charlie said, and even she sounded dejected. 

“For now.” Sam said what they were all thinking.

Once again, evil thoughts bubbled in Castiel’s mind. He wanted nothing more than to go back to the bunker and forget all of this. He wanted to hunker down with Dean until they died of old age. But he knew, deep within himself, that such a thing was not to be. They would fight. They would band together. The Army and National Guard and police would all wrangle the human elements. But the Winchesters would battle the demons. That, Castiel supposed, had been written just as surely in the music of the Spheres as Dean’s righteousness. Around them, a bonfire and reveling. A brief respite from this opening salvo in a much larger war.

**Author's Note:**

> This was initially supposed to be a Big Bang, but I only made it in for a Mini Bang. It was a hell of a summer, folks. Many thanks to the mods for accepting it, and for all they do in organizing this challenge.


End file.
